Some things never change

Thursday

Jan 17, 2013 at 4:48 PM

Thirty-four years ago on a cold, Friday night in January, my husband, Bill, who was not yet my husband, and I went out on our first date. It was a simple, safe evening. We ate pizza at a nondescript but good restaurant in Greensboro and then went to see "The Lord of the Rings" at a nearby theater.

Barbara Presnell

Thirty-four years ago on a cold, Friday night in January, my husband, Bill, who was not yet my husband, and I went out on our first date. It was a simple, safe evening. We ate pizza at a nondescript but good restaurant in Greensboro and then went to see "The Lord of the Rings" at a nearby theater. Bill slept through the entire movie, from opening scenes to closing credits. That film of the famous Tolkien trilogy was a cartoon version, so you could say it's no wonder it didn't hold his attention, and maybe that's what I said that night. I remember he apologized profusely. The next weekend — this is my version of the story. He thinks there must have been at least one date between these two momentous ones — I invited him to my studio apartment on Friday night for dinner. I came home from work early, prepared some kind of yummy chicken with broccoli, and waited. He was working for a newspaper then, and Friday night was — I found out later —the night when they finished everything from the week and didn't leave until everyone was satisfied. At 7, he called, "I'm going to be another hour. I'm sorry." At 8, he called, "I need just a little more time. I'll be there in 30 minutes." By the time he arrived at 10 p.m., the chicken was burned, the broccoli was limp, and I'd finished the bottle of wine. We both tell this story today and laugh, because there's so much truth to it that we didn't know then. If you know me at all, you know I'm impatient to a fault. I don't like wasting time. If you know my husband at all, you know he can go to sleep anywhere at any time, and if it's after dinner, the chances are more likely than not that before everyone else gets comfortable in the living room, he'll be out like a light. He can nod off in the middle of a sentence, with a fork in his hand or even — it happened once — on the front row of a jazz concert. I don't worry about it, because I know it's genetic. At family dinners, shortly after the last plate is cleared from the table, you can find all three of his brothers and him fast asleep in a living room couch or chair. Other things happened on that first date. We both remember, for instance, that we talked about Fitzgerald and Hemingway, arguing who was the better writer. I said Hemingway. He said Fitzgerald. I remember thinking how great it was to carry on an extended conversation with someone about two of my favorite writers. He remembers being nervous, and so do I. We were both older — so we thought, though now 25 doesn't seem so old — and we both were discouraged by love at that point. We proceeded cautiously. I also remember that when he held the car door open for me, I said, "I can get it myself," which he now says gave him a pretty clear idea "who he'd be dealing with." First date stories are generally good stories, and it's fun to ask about them and hear them. Sometimes disastrous beginnings for couples end up with a perfect conclusion. Sometimes blind dates become the most compatible couples. I can't help but believe that all are as telling as ours was. So, with the new release of the movie, "The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey," this one starring real people (but almost three hours long), we decided it would be fun to reenact that first date by going out for pizza and then to the movie. We estimated the date as closely as we could to the first one. It turned out to be Friday.It was foggy and rainy when we headed to Salisbury to my favorite pizza place, Caprianos. In the reenactment, we were as comfortable as the years have made us. He knew I'd shake hot peppers on my slices; I knew he'd fold his lengthwise and eat them like a sandwich. He knew I could eat just as much as he could — and did. We made it to the theater with 20 minutes to spare, enough to watch all the cell phone ads and previews of upcoming shows. We bought giant Cokes — in hopes that the caffeine would do its work and keep him awake. The opening scenes began to roll. There's Bilbo Baggins in his little house writing his story in his book, and then flashing back to tell the story to Frodo, his heir. In spite of a few cinematic shifts, the story hasn't changed in 34 years, or in the 75 years since it was written.I looked over. Bill was fast asleep. Seems like every time I looked over, he was fast asleep. Once, I crawled over him to slip out to the restroom and back, but he didn't notice.He insists he saw more of the movie than he did that first night 34 years ago, and maybe he did. It doesn't really matter. I knew what to expect. Maybe one day, he will stay awake and surprise me, but until then, I know that, like a good classic story, some things don't — and shouldn't — change. Barbara Presnell is a poet and teacher of writing who lives in Lexington. Contact her at www.barbarapresnell.com.

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